if dreams can't come true
by AntaresTheEighthPleiade
Summary: Wirt visits Lorna and Whispers with a new goal in mind. Part of The Pilgrim's Progress.


I don't own it and never have and never will.

* * *

if dreams can't come true

The wards are down.

That's a good sign, the watcher tells himself. They aren't trying to keep him out anymore, so they must realize that he's not going to hurt them. Or maybe, interjects his more pessimistic side, they just remember how ineffective the wards are against him. He'd waltzed right through without even noticing their presence, after all.

Hopefully it's the first reason. He doesn't want them to be afraid of him, and not just because Beatrice convinced them to render aid. He doesn't want _anybody_ to be afraid of him.

Wirt runs his fingers through his hair. He can almost hear Beatrice chiding him—they're not going to forget what you are just because you're hidden your antlers—but he ignores her imagined input.

It's difficult to step out of his forest, to walk up to the witches' door and knock. They're home—he can hear it through even through their thick wall. Lorna's voice calls out that they'll be there in a moment, and Wirt swallows hard.

The door opens.

Lorna's face is a portrait of shock, all wide eyes and limp jaw. Wirt smiles sheepishly, gives a shy little wave. "Hi," he says weakly. "Is it all right if we talk? It's fine if you don't want to, though. That's fine." He clacks his mouth shut, keenly aware of his unfortunate tendency to start babbling.

"No, no," Lorna replies, "come in." She steps back.

"Are you sure?" Wirt asks. "I would, you know, rather not be attacked with a broom again."

"Lorna?" Whispers's voice calls. "Who is it?"

"It's Wirt, Auntie!"

"The new Beast?"

Wirt physically winces at the appellation. "Not exactly," he mumbles.

The witch's bulbous head peeks around a doorframe, followed quickly by the rest of her body. She's frowning in suspicion and hesitates for a long moment before nodding her acquiescence. "Come in."

"Thank you." Wirt has to duck a little to get through the door. "I, um, brought you a gift. I heard that candlewick plants are pretty useful, so I brought you some seeds, if that's all right." Specifically, he'd heard that they were good against evil spirits, as well as having more mundane uses.

Whispers's already-enormous eyes bulge further. "Plants from _you_?" she repeats, stunned. "And freely given?"

Wirt flushes gray. "Yes? I'm sorry if that's rude. It just seemed like the right thing to do."

Whispers and Lorna exchange significant glances. "Your predecessor would gift such things to the witches who rendered him homage."

"Oh." Wirt stares at the seeds like they're little bombs. "I didn't realize that. Um. I'm not asking you to, you know, sacrifice kids or anything. Please don't, actually." He wonders uneasily if his decision to thank them with a present is a sign of the Beast's lingering influence on his mind. "It's just a thank-you, that's all. For helping me with the research." There's a hint of question in his voice. Beatrice said that they'd intended to look into Beast-lore and see if they could find anything about _The Tome of the Unknown_, but they might have changed their minds. Wirt knows what he is, and they do too. They might not want anything to do with him.

Lorna hesitates, holds out her hand. "Did you enchant them in any way? They say that the plants the Beast provided were powerfully magical."

Wirt gives her the seeds with a sinking feeling. "Yes," he mumbles.

Whispers sniffs them. The seeds are so small that they nearly fly into her nostrils. "I can smell the power on them." She smiles. "Thank you, Pilgrim."

Soon Wirt finds himself seated at their table with a teacup in his hand. There's a tension in the atmosphere, but they're all trying.

"How have you been?" Lorna inquires. "Did Gregory and Beatrice—no, I suppose they must have, else you wouldn't be here. Are they nearby?"

"No, they went home after we visited the Woodsman." Wirt knows his name now, but he'll always think of him by title.

"Who?"

Wirt's not certain how to explain the Woodsman's role in the Beast's last years, so he settles on, "He had a few unfortunate encounters with the Beast, so we thought that he might know something that could help with my situation."

"Did he?"

Wirt flinches. "Not really, no."

* * *

"Oh, come on," he whines. "Seriously?"

"At least we know you can break them," Beatrice points out. She looks more amused than comforting.

"Where do the people who make these ward things find all the deer?" Greg wonders.

"Hunting, probably." Beatrice shrugs. "The real difficulty is finding a witch to enchant them."

"So where did he find a witch? Do you think he knows Auntie Whispers?"

"No." Wirt huffs. "I'll knock. I might as well get this over with."

The sneezing fit doesn't last nearly as long this time. He's almost done by the time that the Woodsman opens the door. There is no recognition in his eyes. "What do you need, young man? The town is to the north."

Wirt probably should have expected this. "Actually, I was looking for you," he explains. "We met last year, though I was a lot shorter back then."

"So were me and Beatrice!" Greg yells.

The Woodsman looks, comprehension lighting his eyes as he recognizes the boy's teapot. (Wirt wonders if he should have brought out his old red hat for the reunion, but Jason's been using it as a sleeping bag and he would really rather not wear it again.) For a second, the older man seems pleased to see them. Then he jerks back. "You should not be here, children! The Beast haunts these woods again. You must flee from him."

"That's what we wanted to talk with you about," Wirt interjects. His stomach is twisting inside him, and for the first time, he wonders if he should spread the word that the old Beast is dead, that the new Caretaker has no interest in hurting anybody. Of course, the only way he'd be able to convince anybody is by exposing himself, so maybe not. But he hates how his mere existence frightens people.

Wirt shakes himself. These are thoughts for another day. The Woodsman is in front of him, and he shouldn't waste this opportunity.

They're invited inside, introduced to the Woodsman's daughter Anna, who is apparently _not_ an edelwood tree. Wirt's not quite certain what exactly happened (why had the Woodsman been so convinced that his daughter was in the Beast's clutches if she'd been here all along?) but he opts not to mention it.

"Why have you come here?" The Woodsman is concerned, confused. "You were meant to escape this fell wood, boys. Now the Beast has returned, more powerful than ever before." He makes the ward-evil sign. It has no effect on Wirt, thankfully, not even another sneeze. "You were there, children. He will come for you. You must flee from him!"

"We can introduce you to the witch who warded our home," Anna volunteers.

"No thanks," says Beatrice.

"Why _have_ you come here?" the Woodsman repeats.

"We wanted to ask you stuff about the Beast," Greg chirps. "Did his branchlers ever grow leaves?"

"What?" The Woodsman pulls up short.

"His branchlers." Greg raises his hands to the sides of his head and splays out the fingers.

"More importantly," Beatrice interjects, "did he ever do or say anything that might have hinted at his secrets? For instance, where _The Tome of the Unknown _is?"

"The history book?" Anna queries. "We have a copy around here somewhere, I think."

"No, apparently the history book is only named after another one. It's supposed to contain all knowledge. But were there any places that he liked to linger or that he kept returning to?"

"No." The Woodsman is staring at her. "You're certain that this book belongs to him?"

"Not really," Wirt confesses. "I just had a feeling about it." That feeling might or might not be linked to the part of the Beast that lives on inside him, so he's not quite certain if it's accurate. Then again, it's not like they have any other leads.

The Woodsman shrugs. "I've never heard of it," he admits. "Then again, the Beast is not one for casual conversation. When he did speak with me, it was about the Dark Lantern."

Wirt's fingers twitch towards his satchel before he forces them to still. "And what exactly did he say about the Lantern?"

The Woodsman is giving him an odd look. Inscrutable. Wirt shifts uneasily in his seat. "Why do you ask? You know that he told naught but lies. Don't you remember his claim that my Anna's spirit was trapped within its flames?"

"The best lies have some truth to them," Beatrice explains, much to Wirt's relief. "There _was_ a soul in the Dark Lantern, just not your daughter's."

Comprehension lights the man's face. "I see now. You seek a way to destroy it."

"_No_!" Wirt yelps. Shadows try to climb up his legs, but he has enough presence of mind to shake them off. "I mean, um…." He flutters his hands. "No need for violence, Woodsman."

The Woodsman freezes like a rabbit before a wolf. His eyes dart across Wirt's form: his too-bright eyes, his too-dark shadow, his spidery hands that, he realizes too late, are moving frantically in a mannerism he shares with the old Beast.

Wirt is sadly unsurprised when the axe comes out.

* * *

The young man who is quite possibly the most powerful being in the world flinches. "Not really, no," he mumbles.

"Did he know why you were seeking this information?" Whispers inquires.

"Once he calmed down, yes." Wirt shudders. "He was pretty upset when we finally convinced him that I'm the Beast's successor and not an evil doppelganger. He wants me to become human again, but, well." He meets her gaze then. His eyes catch the light so strangely, as though they are glowing themselves. "Is it possible?"

Whispers finds herself regretting the decision to let the new Horned Lord into her house. Nothing she has seen of his behavior indicates a violent character, but she recalls well the tale of a witch turned to edelwood at the threshold of his own home. "…It could be, but I rather doubt it."

But this does not anger Wirt. He simply sighs and nods. "I thought not." There is a sadness to him but no surprise; he'd expected this news. "And what of _The Tome of the Unknown_? Did you learn anything about it?"

"Only that it is supposed to be hidden in the Cave of Wonders. Alas, the cave moves, and the legends say that only the truly worthy may enter."

"Do the legends say what worthiness means?"

"I am afraid not."

Wirt sighs again. "And so I am adrift again, the stars above all clouded."

"I'm sorry," says Lorna. She looks like she wants to pat his arm in comfort but isn't certain how it would be received.

They sit in silence for a few moments, sipping their tea and weighing their next words. It's Wirt who speaks again. "May I ask a favor?"

Whispers reminds herself that this too-still young man is not like his predecessor. "That depends on the favor."

* * *

Wirt sits by the stream and tries not to think about how much he already misses Greg. He'd just led the boy and frog home that morning, right after they'd awakened in Pottsfield.

Now, he has to give up another of his companions, perhaps for quite some time. He doesn't want to come between Beatrice and her family.

The O'Sialias can speak with birds. The birds can recognize the Caretaker. The birds are also, at least according to Beatrice, terrible gossips and pathologically incapable of keeping secrets. In other words, they'd tell her parents _exactly_ what Wirt now is….

…unless someone else explains things first.

Beatrice is inside her home now, reuniting with her kin and telling of her adventures. Wirt wishes he were there with her, but they'd talked this over on the way from Pottsfield and agreed that they would react better if her friend wasn't there when they learned he was the Beast's successor.

A cacophony of voices rises from the house. Even with his superb hearing, Wirt can't quite make out what the O'Sialias are saying—he has manners, after all, and is deliberately sitting a bit too far away to eavesdrop.

They must know, then. He can't think of anything else that would provoke so much noise.

Wirt swallows hard and silently curses the Beast for leaving him this fearful reputation.

The seconds stretch on into minutes. Wirt listens to the forest, loses himself in the quiet gossip of the trees. They, at least, do not flee from him in terror—and not just because they are literally rooted in place.

A sound. A voice, young and female, calling his name. Wirt stands, strides towards the house. He intends to go slowly, but Beatrice is impatient. "Hurry up!" she hollers, and Wirt grudgingly increases his pace.

Beatrice and her parents, Patrick and Peggy, await him at the threshold. He stops; he can smell their anxiety even if they're doing a good job of hiding it. Forcing a smile—and for once, he doesn't mind that it's undoubtedly nervous and awkward—he extends his hand. "It's good to finally meet you again. Beatrice has told me a lot about her family."

They glance at each other before Beatrice heaves an exaggerated sigh and gestures commandingly. Wirt comes a bit closer and is surprised when she slings his arm over her shoulder. "Mom. Dad. He's completely harmless."

"I know that, dear," Peggy says. But her knuckles are white.

"I'm sorry for scaring you earlier this winter," Wirt apologizes. "That first night, I didn't realize how my voice would carry. Then I wanted to talk to Beatrice and chickened out at the last minute and thought I could show I was friendly by giving you food, but… that probably just freaked you out more."

"You should be sorry," Beatrice scoffs. "If you'd just told me what was going on, Greg and I could have found you that much sooner."

The rest of the family is watching through their windows, quiet and hesitant rather than loud and boisterous. Wirt hates it.

The O'Sialias warm up to him as the hours pass, but Wirt can't get their initial hesitation out of his head. He is so, so tired of being feared.

* * *

"It isn't anything terrible or even strenuous," Wirt assures Whispers. He pauses, weighs his words. When he speaks, it is with a quiet conviction. "The Unknown still thinks that the Beast is afoot. People are terrified of him… and, by extension, of me. I'm sick of it. I want you to spread the word that the Beast is dead and gone, that someone new and very different has taken his place. I want people to know that they have nothing to fear from me." He meets her eyes and does not falter as he drops his human guise, antlers spiraling from his brows, eyes shining blue yellow pink.

(He's still not comfortable appearing before others like this, but how can he expect anyone to believe him benign when he's still afraid of himself?)

Whispers goes rigid. Lorna jerks away. Not unexpected responses, but they still hurt… and prove his point.

He steels himself, and continues. "I'm not saying that you have to knock on doors to spread the word. That would be ridiculous. But if you're visiting friends or overhear something in the marketplace—if you have a chance to bring me up naturally—I would appreciate it a lot if you told them that they don't need to be afraid anymore."

"…We need to discuss this," Whispers declares, eyeing Wirt's antlers.

"Of course." He nods. "Would you like me to wait outside? I have very good hearing now."

"Aye, that would be appreciated."

Wirt glides outside, neck twisting as he goes through the door so as to not get stuck. He finds himself in their garden and turns his attention to tending their plants, strengthening the soil, warding off the first kernels of sickness in the carrots.

Time passes. Wirt is getting nervous. Does his request really merit this much discussion? Maybe he shouldn't have shifted forms. Maybe he'd said something wrong. Or maybe they just aren't interested.

Well, that's… not ideal, but not impossible either. He has other plans that he was going to do anyways. It doesn't exactly bode well that people who knew him before his transformation are so skittish around him, but… he'll work through it. He can and he will.

The door slides open. Wirt rises, trying not to loom.

Lorna smiles at him. "We'll do it."

Tension drains from Wirt's shoulders. He beams back at her and her guardian. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

It would take a long time, he knows, but it will be more than worth it in the end.

* * *

Title comes from "Into the Unknown." The song, that is, not the episode.

So yeah, now Wirt is tired of people cowering in terror before him. It's hard to blame him, honestly. So he's focusing more on remedying that than on book-hunting, which is almost certainly not going to re-humanize him anyways (but might contain tips for Caretaking, so he's still keeping an eye out for it).

-Antares


End file.
